Of Games and Shadows
by Intransitive
Summary: The Deep Roads is over, his love life has taken a turn for the better after a rocky start, and life is good. But times are changing, and so is Hawke in unexpected and disturbing ways that no one could've foreseen. Mage M!Hawke/Fenris
1. Awakening

Warnings: complete disregard for DA2's timeline.

Originally wrote a short romance ficlet, but it just took off from there into something else. M!Hawke/Fenris and a host of all other characters.

* * *

The Hanged Man was rowdy that night, full of weary men eager to forget the hardships of daily life in Kirkwall. The smell of bitter swill and spilled ale hung heavy amidst the raucous crowd drunk in loud revelry. At the corner table by the stairwell sat an eclectic group. To the old patrons, the sight of a dark looking elf and a stout dwarf in the company of a couple humans was no longer an odd sight, and so they paid them no mind. Some of these patrons had to learn the hard way about the consequences of speaking their mind.

"Elf, how is it that your so good at diamondback?" Varric said as he pushed a stack of silver across the scuffed table. "Something you picked up in servitude?"

"It's no fault of mine that you're bad at it, dwarf," Fenris said.

"Oh Varric, you just don't know the rules. As in, there are no rules. Full house, my win," Isabella said. She placed her cards flat on the table and raked in the coins.

Varric gaped and spluttered, "No no, elf boy here I can understand, but _you_? The only way you ever win is by cheating!"

"Did you see me cheat? I think not." Isabella gave a surreptitious wink to Hawke, and he laughed. Hawke saw her slight of hand, a quick and subtle movement, but did not feel the need to mention it. It was the same routine every time they played.

"One more game. I'm not giving up till I win at least one game," Varric pleaded.

Hawke, who was sitting right beside Fenris, slipped his hand beneath the table and placed it on Fenris' thigh. Fenris shifted a little in surprise and his face grew stiff. He huffed, an almost silent exhale of air, and dropped his cards onto the table.

"I'm done for the night. Same time next week?"

"What's the hurry elf? Forgot to choreograph your dance routine?"

"One joke, and you never let it go."

"Not in your lifetime, elf. Say hello to Leandra for me!"

Fenris rolled his eyes and gathered slung his broadsword across his back. Although the tavern was crowded, people hastily parted as Fenris strode to the exit. The returning patrons, even drunk, had some sense of self-preservation in them still, Hawke thought with amusement.

"So you and Fenris, eh?" Isabella teased as she watched Hawke's eyes trace Fenris' retreat. She deftly shuffled the deck, her movements quick and swift as she dealt out the cards. "If you hadn't already laid claim to him, I would've eaten up that brooding hot body long ago."

"I love it when you talk dirty Rivaini, but not about ser broody-pants. There's not enough ale in this tavern for me to be prepared for that," Varric said with a grimace, and then shot Hawke a grin to show the lack of intent behind that statement.

"I don't have 'claim' on anyone," Hawke said. From the knowing looks being aimed at him, that protest was evidently a weak one.

"Despite what you may think, that wandering hand was not exactly subtle. And if I saw that, for sure Rivaini here did as well."

"I've no idea what you two are talking about," Hawke said. He rearranged the cards in his hand and changed the subject. "Ready to lose again Varric?"

"Not this time."

And much to the dwarf's chagrin, he did lose badly. Twice. The third and final time, Isabella forced him to buy them a round. Varric may have been the merchant prince and Isabella the pirate-thief, but Hawke had some magic tricks up his sleeve too.

* * *

Hawke ended up bidding Varric and Isabella farewell when the noise began to taper off and people slunk back into their hovels. The air outside was chilly and the streets that were carved from the large quarry it was situated in glowed a chalky white in the pale moonlight. Pinpricks of stars glittered in the sky, for once not hidden by passing clouds, and Hawke admired the vastness of the void.

As he walked away from the bright tavern and down the solitary pathways of Lowtown, a still figure broke away from the recess of a shadow and joined his side.

"I thought you would've already been back in Hightown already," Hawke said. He was unsurprised by the sight of Fenris standing in wait. "Unless you had something else in mind...?" He shot Fenris a lewd grin.

Nearly barefoot, Fenris' footsteps were as silent as a wraith's. It made the sound of Hawke's boots clapping against the stone floor seem to echo louder. Hawke observed the tension in Fenris' shoulders, and the way his eyes kept darting to the side, as if searching for an escape route away from an uncomfortable position, never mind the fact that it was he who sought Hawke's company voluntarily.

"Night in Lowtown isn't safe for one person, and you are a rather conspicuous Fereldan," Fenris said. "I didn't think you'd ask for Varric and Isabella to escort you back to the mansion."

"If I'm a conspicuous foreigner, you are more than a conspicuous looking elf."

Fenris stiffened and looked away. "If you'd have me leave, command me, and I shall."

Hawke sensed the significance of those choice words and mentally filed it away.

"I'm hardly the helpless damsel, but I do appreciate your concern. Besides, how could I deny any time alone with you?" " Hawke said with a laugh at the mental imagery of him in a dress. He undid the obscure charm so that the staff slung across his back was visible. Fenris grimaced at the taste of magic in the air, but did not move away.

Hawke gently touched the bared portion of Fenris' arm and trailed his fingers down till he was able to hold his hand. It was a good sign that Fenris didn't shake away his touch. If it wasn't too dark to see, he could've sworn there was a flush rising on his cheeks and pointed ears.

"Did you really stand out in the cold for a couple hours to see me safely home, or did you want something else?"

He saw Fenris' mouth open and close, as if thinking hard about an appropriate answer. Perhaps he could help with that. Hawke lifted Fenris' gauntleted hands, carefully avoiding the clawed tips, and kissed the exposed palm. The area where his lips touched made the lyrium markings glow blue with life. Fenris shuddered. An interesting response.

"Don't," Fenris croaked, and weakly tried to pull his hand away. Hawke held on for a second longer and let go. "You don't know what you do to me."

"Good things, I hope. You really are something else."

"An escaped slave whose past is forever branded on his skin?" Fenris said harshly. Hawke knew that sighing out loud would probably make this turn in mood worse.

"Your life should be defined by more than the past," Hawke said gently, neither taking a step back nor forward in proximity. "You scorn Merrill for chasing after lost history, a life that can never be recovered, and yet your need for revenge and self-loathing consumes every aspect of you. Let it go."

"It's not that easy!" Fenris said. "If I could release this..._hatred_, I would. But not until I am no longer hunted by my master. I would see him dead first."

"I've already pledged to help you in this, but have you thought of what after?"

They had stopped in front of the empty pier. The sound of tethered boats gently bumping against the quay and their breathing filled the silence. Fenris looked at into the water, at the reflection of the moon and stars broken by the lapping of water.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Fenris finally said after a long moment in contemplation. "It frightens me that when I am with you, I desire to serve. This want to stay and be yours when all these years I've been running and hiding like a mouse is something I cannot place. It is like a different kind of slavery."

The fact that Fenris compared the two of them to slavery told Hawke much about how inexperienced Fenris was when it came to different type of relationships outside that context.

"Perhaps I can help you sort it out," Hawke said, leaning back against a wall so that their eyes were at equal heights. "When I look at you, I do not see a fugitive nor a slave. I see a strong elf who has done everything he can to carve out his own existence, unyielding in his actions, but also lonely. Some would say that being in a relationship, especially the loving kind, is a type of slavery. But in a true relationship, it is a mutual desire to please and to do anything for the other's well-being. The only power I have over you, and you over me, is what is freely given."

A strange glint flashed in Fenris' eyes as they gazed at each other, blue orbs meeting green. "I...I've never been in a 'relationship' before, and do not know what to do in one," Fenris said carefully, as if tasting a foreign concept. "You and I don't always see eye to eye, but all I ever think about is you."

"And I to you. But how do you feel about magic now? Magic is a part of me. Without it, I am nothing. Could you love me still, and come to terms with this apostate?"

"It will take...time. My reserve against mages is not so strong when I am with you, but Anders and Merrill still repulse me. I cannot make any promises, especially those I do not know that I can keep."

"It's enough that you'll try," Hawke said, and reached out to palm his cheek. "I have not lived your life nor seen through your eyes the horror of what went on in Tevinter, and promise you that I will not trivialize your experiences because of this. Magic is useful, but it is innately dangerous; that I can agree with."

"And yet you continue to use it," Fenris said.

"Can you imagine anything else? It is who I am, and the only way it can be gotten rid of is by making me Tranquil."

"I wouldn't let them," Fenris said with vehemence. He laid his hand atop of Hawke's and turned his face to kiss Hawke's hand; a returned gesture. "I cannot sort through all that I feel for you, but I know that I would not let that happen. Not while I'm alive."

Hawke pressed his lips firmly against Fenris' and they both moaned at the contact. Eager hands gripped and explored each others bodies, making them burn with desire. "We'll work this out-" Fenris gave a hard kiss-"mm, together. We'll make it work."

They continued to revel in each other's touch beneath the dark sky till a chilly wind swept through the dock and made them shiver with something other than desire. With great reluctance, Hawke leaned back to break the kiss and prevented Fenris from following. "Let's not scandalize the poor bandits out at this time. Your place or mine?"

Fenris laughed, a genuine gravelly laugh from the throat. "I doubt your mother would appreciate us ruining the tapestries and making a mess of the floor."

"I like your ambition. Your mansion is long overdue for a good breaking."

The candles had long snuffed itself out, but daylight was breaking on the horizon. The bed was an absolute mess. Half the sheets were on the floor, and the pillows were flung somewhere into the corner. Hawke had hurt his hand after accidentally knocking over a pile of heavy tomes on the bedside table that were being used to prop up deformed candles lacking placeholders.

When the fire from the knocked candle accidentally hit the cotton sheets, Hawke was glad that Fenris didn't flinch at the sight of him using magic to smother it before it burnt them both alive in a fiery cocoon.

Fenris was still asleep, his usually tense and melancholic face now relaxed and peaceful. Hawke had a feeling that Fenris hadn't had a restful sleep in a long time, and he was glad that he was able to remedy that.

Hawke watched his lover sleep until he felt the burn in his bladder and got up to relieve it. Even though dawn was fast approaching, the windows were but mere slits in the wall, so the room was still mostly cast in darkness. As Hawke walked back towards the bed after relieving himself outside, he felt his foot collide with something hard and sharp. Suppressing a curse, he nudged aside Fenris' clawed gauntlets and felt something smooth and flat fall out and slide beneath his foot.

A quick glance at the ruined bed showed Fenris still unmoved. Hawke quietly summoned a light mote to hang above his head and had to bite his knuckles to stop himself from outright laughing.

It was cards. The highest ones in diamondback nonetheless.

No one knew honesty and fairness in games anymore, it seemed. Or at least not in their company. Except for poor Varric.

Hawke slipped back into bed and buried his face against Fenris' neck.

"I see you found something interesting," Fenris said, his voice rougher than usual from sleep.

"You are more of a sneaky bastard than I give you credit for," Hawke teased. "Were you awake the entire time?"

"Long enough for you to find the cards."

"So every time we play, do you have those with you?"

"Only when I know you and Isabella will be playing."

"Why I never," Hawke said with mock outrage. "You wound me so with such accusations."

"Oh? Then I must be mistaken. Sleight of hands are a true rarity after all. Let me make it up to you," Fenris said as he slid under the sheets.

"You're going to be making it up to me every night."

"It'd be my pleasure."

Needless to say, they spent the entire morning in bed.

* * *

Kirkwall's Lowtown used to house the Imperium's slaves. The city itself was a sprawling maze, and it wasn't unusual for denizens to find themselves in unfamiliar areas. It was meant to deter slave rebellions. And it worked.

Very few people knew about the glyphs carved upon the quarry walls, floors and tunnels. Time had eroded away much of the markings, but here and there were some that could still be traced by sensitive fingertips and soft cheeks.

When Hawke and his family had first docked into Kirkwall with the mass of other Fereldan refugees, he tasted the old power contained within the city as soon as he had stepped onto the quay. It was a numbness on his tongue and a tingle in his spine. If Bethany...if Bethany had made it, perhaps she would've felt it too, some sign that Kirkwall was more than it seemed to be.

All cities carried the spirit of history within its walls, and like the glyphs, it may not always be visible, but it was felt. It had been three years since Hawke had first arrived and found riches in the Deep Roads. The Amell Mansion he purchased in Hightown delighted his mother beyond all compare. Between Carver, his mother and himself, Hawke thought that the one to suffer the most was their mother. There was no use dwelling in the past-they were Hawkes now, not Amells, but anything to keep away his mother's sadness he would do in a heartbeat.

Carver never came to see the Amell Mansion restored. He was as resolute to focus on his Templar training as the day he left to join their ranks. Hawke did not know what it meant that he was relieved to see his little brother go, even though it broke their mother's heart. Carver had always felt the need to prove himself, and constantly questioned his decisions in a one-sided competition that Hawke never satisfied for him.

Carver was no longer a little boy a head shorter than him, begging to see magic tricks and asking to be swung around or to ride on his shoulders. Carver changed when their father passed away. Perhaps one day they'll be able to talk civilly to each other. Bethany was always the calm one, the mediator, and the one who forced them to shake hands and apologize. He didn't think anyone could've foreseen that Carver would've become a templar. Bethany would've been horrified.

Kirkwall was their home now, for good or ill.

The stench of the city, a mix of sweet rot and briny water, was at its strongest in Lowtown. He often kept himself busy through volunteer work with Anders, assisting Aveline in her guard duties, cards with Varric and Isabella, or taking his mabari hound to the Wounded Coast for a good exercise, with the occasional request to quietly be rid of some "undesirable" fellows. It was an easier life outside of the confines of the mercenary group, though on occasion, when Hawke felt the need for a good fight, he would take an assignment from the Red Iron.

The buzz of magic coursing through his body demanded he do something about it. And so he did. He had stopped carrying his staff a while ago-it was no longer required as a conduit.

He had just finished completing a Red Iron job in an underground basement within Darktown. It was filthy work, full of blood and dirt. By the time he was through, there were no survivors and eyewitnesses to report the deed. He took none of his usual companions with him-they would not approve. Even Fenris. But at least the agonizing rush of power was depleted. For now.

The city was like a conch shell that still the echo of the ocean if one listened closely enough. A thin overlay of old magic pulsed through the underground tunnels, the well-worn roads and rough-hewed walls. The longer Hawke remained in Kirkwall, the more he could feel its stain upon him in ways that made him fear.

He had first noticed a change with his connection to the Fade while still in the one-year bound contract with the Red Iron. Working with the mercenary group was hard work, and both he and Carver did not come out unscathed. Every time they were sent out on a mission, the end result would exhaust them both to the core, and it took all his concentration to quietly heal the worst of their wounds without their mother or Gamlen noticing.

At first the change was welcome. He had a deeper mana pool and it did much to alleviate his fatigue, as well as improve his capabilities for both himself and Carver. If Carver noticed the gradual ease of dispatching certain people, it was left unmentioned.

Hawke thought that the inflow of magic would stop in time, especially now that the fight for survival was no longer a threat. When they had left for the Deep Roads, the echo of Kirkwall continued to resonate in the hollow of his bones. Coming back, the influx had grown from rivulets to a stream. He feared a flood.

Too much magic can corrupt the soul, his father once said during a training mishap where he blew up a young sapling in a shower of flames instead of encouraging it to sprout leaves. It is a tool that is an extension of yourself, but must be wielded carefully. The sharper and stronger that tool is, the more likely it will become a weapon that knew only to hurt rather than to mend and defend. Losing control means to lose one's sense of self, and that only lead to darker paths. They had put out the flames together.

There was much wisdom in his father that was never fully imparted, both because of his youth and his father's untimely death. Hawke didn't think about his father often, it brought up too many conflicting feelings, but he desperately wished he was still alive now.

His hair was still damp from washing himself in a secluded area that had access to the sea. His scalp and neck itched from the salt, but he figured it was better to come home smelling like brine than blood.

Owners at their stalls harked their wares to passersby with enthusiasm, neighboring stores constantly raising their voices to drown each other out. The market was a mess of bodies hot from the sweltering sun, and the buzzing of flies trying to taste their sweat.

Hawke wandered through the market and into a shadowed alleyway. He knew not where he was going, and let his feet guide him through the empty path. Although he spent most of his magic reserves on accomplishing his task, his body was still humming with power. Perhaps he'll skip the party at the Hanged Man tonight; he'd find an appropriate excuse another time.

The orange banners slung from roof top to roof top in a haphazard pattern blazed with fire from the sunlight, and beneath the glow of their shadow, a jolt of lightning shot through his leg. With a grunt of pain and surprise, Hawke's shoulder hit the side of the narrow alley hard as he slid down onto the dirty ground to clutch his aching bone.

"Are you alright, serrah?" A wizened crone asked from the window above him. She had a threadbare grey blanket in her hand that was halfway draped across the clothesline. Her eyes were a bright golden yellow.

"I don't know who you're trying to fool," Hawke said through gritted teeth, "but at least put some effort into it. I'm not stupid, despite what you may think."

The crone cackled and disappeared from the window ledge. Hawke put his head against his raised knee and breathed deeply. The pain in his leg throbbed weakly and a slow wave of numbness crept down from his shoulders. His fingertips tingled like it was being trod on by a thousand ants.

"Clever child, I knew I liked you for a reason," the golden-eyed crone said, casting him in the dark with her shadow. She was draped in a long sleeved dress with a shawl over her shoulders. A long cowl covered her head, making her eyes appear all the more stark. At least her voice ha changed; it was definitely more recognizable now. The grey blanket she had on the clothesline was folded neatly in the crook of her arm.

"Flemeth. Under any other circumstance I'd give you a warm greeting, but as you can see," Hawke casually waved at his prone body, "I'm not in the proper setting."

Flemeth laughed and unfolded the blanket. "Oh I know child, I know," she said, draping him in a shroud of grey. "It's not everyday I make personal visits."

Hawke frowned at the blanket. The temperature was still hot and air stifling, but strangely enough, the blanket was cool and light like a midnight breeze. Feeling in his arms and legs returned in slow stages, but it was coming back.

"Why are you helping me?" Hawke asked.

"So suspicious, child," Flemeth said. "But alas you are right. I require your services once more."

"And why should I help you?"

"A favor for a favor," Flemeth said, baring her teeth.

"Then you can have this...whatever blanket this is back," Hawke said and made a move to unwrap the it from his shoulders.

"Keep it," she said, reaching out to tighten it around him. "Consider it a gift. A peace offering if you will, showing my good intent."

"Since when does a fly in the ointment have good intent? How do I know that you're not the cause of this?"

"As if I had nothing better to do with my time than to torment a Fereldan apostate. You've made quite a name for yourself, and undiscovered too!" She said. "Either you are extremely skilled, or the Templars here are not as formidable as they seem. But how long will that last? Especially when you are no longer in full control of what you wield."

"For someone claiming to not be the cause of this, you seem to know an awful lot."

"I know a great many things, clever one, and it is this knowledge of your...affliction that I offer you," Flemeth said. "The task I ask of you is of consequence and severity, but you shall have a great reward as your due."

"Your words suggest many things, but holds no promises," Hawke said. "Just because you offer me knowledge of my _ailment_ does not mean it holds the key to its cure. And that's if there's even one to be had."

Flemeth's laugh echoed through the alleyway, her rusty voice amplified in waves. "You have more than proven your worthiness. No, I will not give you cheap advice; that is for lesser men. I will be your teacher, and under my tutelage, you shall harness what you are becoming."

Hawke felt sick. What he was becoming? Maker, surely not an abomination. He could not recount making any deals with demons. He'd rather die.

"Here is a small piece, a taste of what I know. Listen well," Flemeth said, striking a dramatic pose, "The Fade is as vast as the void, always changing and shifting, like a leaf drifting in the wind. The area that ordinary dreamers occupy is but a single thread in a tapestry. To cross into another thread is to travel into another realm, one that is full of secrets and wonders unbeknownst."

Flemeth's shard of knowledge was like an arrow through Hawke's mind. He had never heard of the Fade being described in such a way before, but the words resonated deep within, and somehow he knew it to be the Truth.

She observed his change in manner, the slump in his shoulders and the inward reflection of his eyes, and knew she had won over his reserve.

"Meet me in a week's time at the altar from whence I was released," she said. Hawke lowered his head in silent agreement. "Arrive well-equipped, and tell no one of our meeting. Settle your debts; you will be gone for some time."

She took a step back into the lee of an broken archway and disappeared.


	2. Fade

Short chapter, though next one will probably be longer. Reviews are appreciated.

* * *

Hawke didn't know when he drifted into sleep. Beneath the unnaturally cool blanket that was as smooth as vellum, he felt more relaxed than he had been in the last few months. It was a strange feeling, having been absent for so long, but a welcome relief. It cased to matter that he was huddled in an alleyway and was an easy target for pick pockets and hustlers. The strain of the day, of the kill and the pain and untangling Flemeth's words had taken its toll.

It was said that mages, unlike non-magical persons, did not forget their time in the Fade. Like any other dreamer, some dreams are remembered and some are left half-forgotten. Even though mages had the capability of remembrance, it did not always mean that they remembered upon waking. For Hawke, recollection was few and far in between, that for which he was grateful.

He understood that he was dreaming. He was in his room at the Amell Mansion. The four poster bed was at the expected place, as was the tables against the wall and chest at the corner to the left side of the door. Everything had the unmistakable feel of the other world. The scenery before him had a softened edge to it, the corners bleeding into one another like a wet painting left standing upright.

Hawke looked down at himself and, with a fleeting thought, shifted his tarnished garments and clotted armor into a comfortable red tunic and soft pants. Even if it was a dream, he might as well make himself comfortable. At least pain from the physical body did not project into the astral plane.

"Are you feeling well, heart?" A voice called out.

Startled, Hawke looked behind him and saw Fenris lounging casually on his bed. He was without his armor and weaponry. It was strange seeing him in casual garbs, ones similar like the ones he wore himself, except that it was black in color with white trimmings.

"Who are you?" Hawke said, curious and wary.

The spirit wearing Fenris' face lifted a brow and gave an uncharacteristic toothy grin. "Who else?" it said, and patted the empty spot beside it. "Come to bed dear, and perhaps I'll jog your memory."

The spirit adjusted its position till it assumed a posture of sensuality, which was absolutely ridiculous. Hawke would laugh himself sick if the real Fenris ever did such a thing. Not-Fenris seemed to take Hawke's silence as an affirmation, and it slid beneath the covers and began to shrug off its tunic, making a show of the display of flesh inlaid with elegant golden-lines of lyrium.

Really. This was getting to be too much.

"Why does everyone think I can be fooled so easily?" Hawke said to himself aloud, averting his eyes from the ridiculous sight happening in his replicated bed. "Do I really give that impression to everyone?"

"I am offering you a gift," not-Fenris said angrily, fists bunching tightly around the sheets. "Dare you be so bold as to throw it back in my face?"

"I am sick of people throwing 'gifts' at me. Your performance is sadly lacking, and I'm embarrassed for you," Hawke said, and took pleasure in seeing a rising flush in the spirit's face. "I don't know what you are, but I can care less. Keep the room. Keep the bed. I'm done here." He made a dismissive motion and turned to walk out of the room.

When he was a few feet away from the door, it slammed itself shut. Hawke heard the clicking of metal locks, and then silence. He knew it wouldn't work, but his hand tried the door latch anyway. It did not budge. He took a deep breath as he felt a rising force behind him. Perhaps it wasn't wise to anger an unknown entity in its own territory.

Hawke reached inwards to grapple with the edges of his mind in an attempt to free himself from this dream. He could feel the tethers that bound him to the dream world, but his fingers could not grasp it. An invisible shield prevented him from touching the strands.

He turned his head around and dreaded what he'd see.

The spirit was no longer beneath the covers, but was now sitting at the edge of the bed. It had shed its facade and was now a solid shadow in the shape that vaguely resembled a human being's but with extremely elongated limbs. By the Maker, even its fingers were long, like curved claws.

It wasn't the twisted physique that put a shard of fear into Hawke's gut (his journeys had exposed him to quite a lot of gruesome sights), but it was the face that got him. It was a blank black slate, yet Hawke could feel its eyes on him, boring holes with its unnerving intensity.

"You are a strange human," it said. It's voice sounded off-key, like the whistle of a sharp wind, quiet and loud at the same time. The black shadow rose off the bed and floated towards him.

Feeling the stirrings of panic beginning to fray his calm, Hawke flung a barrier between himself and the shadow spirit. It tilted its head curiously at his use of magic, and much to Hawke's horror, it braced its hands against the magic wall and it's black slated face split open vertically, revealing a red cavernous mouth from the top of the head down to the chin-a long bloody tongue reached out and _tasted_ Hawke's barrier.

The barrier shuddered at the touch of the monster's tongue. Hawke bolstered it with more magic, and barely managed to keep it from collapsing.

"Why must you insist on resisting," the shadow monster said, it's vertical red maw still left open, a blood-drenched massacre. "All I want is a sssmall piece," it sibilantly laughed. Hawke's stomach recoiled in absolute revulsion. Maker, why did these things always happen to him.

The monster's freakishly long fingers raked down the barrier and Hawke felt the tear. Eyes focused on the shadow creature, he fumbled with the door behind it and willed it to open with all his might. It was his dream, damnit, not that thing's. He was the one who held the control.

Hawke tried to keep that confidence, but the more his shields tattered as the creature worked at it with ferocity, the less sure he felt. Again Hawke reached within his mind and strained hard against the forces preventing him from touching the threads. He knew that to die within the Fade was to become Tranquil in the real world, nothing but a hollow shell of a person's former self.

Torn between concentrating on maintaining the barrier and attempting to untangle himself from the nightmare, Hawke thought about his mother, about Carver, and about his companions.

He thought of loyally steadfast Aveline, always watching out for the people she cared for, even when it was not always welcome.

He thought of Varric, the witty story-teller who valued friendship as his most valuable possession.

Isabella and her fickle nature, whose respect was hard-earned but once received, was a boon that was everlasting.

And Hawke even thought about Merrill and Anders, the two companions who frustrated him the most with their extreme ideals of the use of blood magic and what to do with the Circle and Chantry, but whose intentions were good and at times had its merits. Despite the things they had done that he heartily disapproved of, they were still his friends, and the only mages other than Bethany whom he really knew.

But most important of all, he thought about Fenris. The elf who was most adamant against the use of magic, yet admittedly admired Hawke's skill and control. Someone who was physically scarred by magisters and suffered from their lust for power, but allowed Hawke, a capable mage himself, to trace the lyrium brands that wound all over his body without flinching, body relaxed and open, face vulnerable and eyes trusting.

There was so much of their duality to discover and explore, to find the grounds that met so that the longer they were together, the more inseparable they became. If Hawke was overtaken by this spirit, this shadow monster or demon, whatever entity it was, then all this effort to enjoy life would be gone to waste. His mother had already lost one child-it would irreparably break her heart to lose another.

And if Hawke was taken away by magic, it would reverse all the changes in Fenris' attitude towards mages and magic itself by confirming his ideals that it was dangerous and a thing to be feared without exception.

Hawke was not ready to die, not just yet.

The creature had thinned the barrier till there was almost nothing separating it from him, and it pressed forward, stretching the shield even further like a worn sheet about to be split in two. With renewed vigor, Hawke closed his eyes and focused. The threads that bound him to this place was clearer now in his mind, shining brightly in a dazzling array of indescribable colors.

He reached for them once more, and there was no barrier to block his way. As he hastily tore the threads to pieces, he felt his barrier collapse in a tidal wave. Cold iron grips enveloped his entire body, and just as the creature began to feed, Hawke managed to undo the final strand. And he was free.


	3. Blood Inheritance

A/N: This story is definitely getting super plotty. Hope ya'll stick around to see it to it's end. Big plans are in store.

* * *

Awareness came back to Hawke in slow stages. At first all he saw was darkness and for a moment he felt a wave of panic. Did he not make it after all? Had he been consumed by the monster?

But then he was aware that it was dark because his eyes were closed. He could hear his own breathing, quickened inhales and exhales that were beginning to slow now that he realized he was no longer dreaming. A heavy coverlet was pulled up to his chest. The pillow beneath his head was soft, and the texture of the cloth was gratifying to feel. Everything smelled familiar.

Dim voices muffled by a closed door spoke to one another. It was too low to make out the individual words, but Hawke knew that he was safe.

He laid still for some blissful moments until the heat began to grow oppressive. With clumsy movements, he kicked at the sheets and pushed it away from his bare chest. He knuckled at his gummy eyes and peeled them open. He was in his room. Hawke let his eyes wander to every corner, and even moved to peer under the bed. No shadow monster to be seen.

There was a movement outside, and Hawke felt himself tense, a spell ready on his lips. The door swung open, and Hawke barely stopped himself from letting loose the curse at the sight of Fenris. He knew logically that it was unlikely the shadow monster could cross over from the Fade, but the sight of Fenris brought back the whole unpleasant memory of the monster, including its failed impersonation.

Hawke's reaction did not go amiss, and Fenris shot him a concerned look from the doorway. He moved aside to let his mother rush to the bedside. He stood awkwardly at the doorway.

"Oh my baby, you're awake!" Leandra said, throwing herself at Hawke.

Hawke reeled a little from the force of her embrace, and then hugged her back. She leaned her cheek against his shoulder for a moment before moving back so that she could look at him in the eye, holding his face between her soft palms.

"Fenris, could you be a dear and fetch Anders?" Leandra said, not withdrawing her gaze from her son's face. "Anders put you under a healing sleep. He said that you would not be awake for at least another day."

"Did he," Hawke said, and thought about the force field around his dream threads. Leandra put her hand on his forehead and touched his cheeks. "Mother, I'm alright."

Hawke shifted his eyes so that it met Fenris' and tried to convey a pleading look. "Really, I'm fine," he smiled, though judging from the alacrity in which his lover took leave and the worried look from his mother, it probably turned out more as a grimace. How reassuring.

Leandra's eyes watered. "Mother, please don't cry," Hawke pleaded. "If Carver were here, he'd beat me for making you cry."

"I have half the mind to beat you myself," she said, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "You've been more withdrawn lately and when I speak with you it's as if your not really there. At first I thought it was just something on your mind and that you needed time alone to sort through it, but then you disappear for an entire day and night without a word and...and...the way you were found..." her voice was too full of emotion to properly speak.

Hawke knew it was best to stay quiet for now.

Leandra swallowed her tears and gave a heavy sigh. "Tell me what's wrong my boy. What is it that's happening to you?" She said, placing her hand atop of his.

Hawke held her hands firmly and said, "I don't know. But I think I know what to do."

"You're not even making sense," Leandra said. "What is it that you need to do?"

"I'm trying to figure that out myself," Hawke said. Then he tried to change the subject. "So what's been happening since I've been brought here? Actually, who was it that found me anyway?"

"Aveline's husband did. Donnic, a good man," she said. "When you didn't come home yesterday night before I went to bed, I thought that you were just having another late night. It wasn't until Fenris stopped by to ask where you were the next day that we knew something was wrong. Everyone put themselves into search parties."

"You've been gone for two days," Carver said, walking over to stand beside the bed in full silver and blue templar regalia, a gleaming sword strapped to his back. "Couldn't get yourself out of trouble this time, could you?"

Hawke gave their mother an exasperated look. "You needn't have involved Carver."

"What, I'm not important enough to be informed?" Carver said, bristling at the comment.

Hawke refused to hang his head in his hands like he dearly wanted to. "It's not that," he said in an gentle tone, "I know how important templar training is to you, and this is not something that you should break your routine over."

"Don't be so blithe about all of this," Carver spat. "You weren't there when mother begged ser knight Cullen to see me. I owe a lot of people favors in getting out of the Gallows as quickly as I did to help search for you, so don't pass it off as if it was nothing."

"Why must you and your brother always fight," Leandra said sadly, looking at both her sons. "He was worried about you."

"Yes, I know," Hawke said. "I'm sorry brother, and I thank you for looking out for me."

"I didn't do it for you," Carver said. "While you've been asleep, mother has been telling things."

Hawke looked at their mother. She avoided his gaze. "What things?" Hawke asked, already not liking where this is going.

"The shattering vases and broken table-"

"Okay, the vase was an accident," Hawke interceded. "You've knocked over more than your fair share-"

"Carver has not broken glass from merely looking at it," Leandra said. "Nor the dining table." The pieces had ended up being used for the fireplace.

"Mother also told me that sometimes she hears strange whispers and echoes from rooms that you've been in," Carver continued.

"What?"

"And Orlanna, that elf servant of yours-what is it with you and elves-pulled me aside not too long ago and said that there was something strange about your shadow. She said that she's noticed that when she does not look at it directly, that it doesn't always match your movements."

Hawke felt the bile rise to the back of his throat, and he put his face in his hands. "A shadow. Oh, maker, this can't be happening," he moaned.

"Enough games, brother," Carver said, towering over him. "By your words it seems that you haven't been completely honest to everyone. Tell us what's really going on. Are you a...?"

"A what Carver?" Hawke said, tiredly. "An abomination you mean?"

"Yes," his brother said. His hand had strayed to touch the hilt of his broadsword.

"Carver! What are you doing?" Their mother said, putting herself between the two.

"Stay out of this mother. This could be templar business." His face was resolute and eyes hard.

"He's your brother!" Leandra screeched, throwing herself at her youngest. Carver stumbled back a little and tried to push her gently to the side, but she would not have it and grappled with him.

"Yes, but if he has become possessed by a demon, I will not shirk my responsibility. An apostate brother I can tolerate, but abomination I will not. Do not protect him, mother." Leandra hung onto his armor tightly and would not be pried.

"If I was really a mouthpiece for a demon, do you really think that demon would tell you?" Hawke said angrily. "Surely you know better than that."

Carver's sword sang as he drew it. Leandra gasped and reached for it.

"Mother, stop," Hawke said and flung back the sheets so that he could stand, albeit with shaky legs. "Carver, put that away before you hurt someone, namely yourself. Besides, it won't do you any good."

"Is that a threat?"

"A fair warning," Hawke said firmly. His eyes flashed a bright icy blue and Carver's sword flung itself out of his hand, spun around, and buried itself into the hard stone ceiling with a reverberating clang.

"Now that that's no longer an issue..."

Carver backed away and reached for his dagger.

"Look what I did to your templar issued sword. Do you really think a tiny dagger is going to do you any better?" Hawke said with great exasperation. "I'm not an abomination. Now sit down and let me speak."

Leandra looked at Hawke, her eyes wide and fearful. Carver no longer attempted to reach for his dagger, but Hawke saw him eye the wide open door as if he was planning to dash through it. For reinforcements, perhaps.

The door closed with a soft snick.

"I really don't know what's been going on with me. Lately I've been having more difficulty in controlling my magic, and sometimes it comes out in bursts without intention."

"What do you mean more difficulty?" Leandra asked, looking at him and at the magically closed door.

"Ever since we've come to Kirkwall, its been...unbalanced. There's something strange about this city, and it's been affecting me for a while now."

"And you've only thought to mention this now?" Carver said. "All this time..."

"It wasn't a problem until recently. And just recently I've been having these pains. That's why I collapsed in that alley."

"Have you been having strange dreams too?" Leandra whispered, as if afraid of her utterance.

Hawke shot her a perplexed look. "How did you know?"

Leandra stayed silent for a moment and then walked to the window, crossing her arms. She gazed outside at the inhabitants of Hightown, at their leisurely wanderings in beautiful garbs, and pondered for a moment before turning around to look at her children.

"Both of you already know that there has always been magic in the Amell line. Long ago, mages in our family were celebrated and revered, but several hundred years ago that changed. Suddenly magic was abhorred and your ancestors sought to breed it out of the family, yet always it remained." Leandra said. "When I married your father, I brought more magic into the line.

The day before I eloped, your grandmother took me aside and told me a legend of an ancient curse. Long ago, one of your ancestors, a greedy man by the name of Fiero, attempted to steal an artifact from a witch that was said to imbue its owner with great power. Fiero, arrogant in his abilities, thought that he could best the witch. He was no match. As punishment, she laid a blood curse on our line, that every mage-born within our family shall die by their own power."

"And have they?" Hawke said.

"According to the stories, eventually," Leandra said. "How quickly the mage succumbs to the curse depends on how powerful he or she is, according to the tale."

"Why did you marry father then if you knew this could happen?" Hawke said, not angry, but curious. "Why weren't Bethany and I ever told of us this before. Did father know?"

"I didn't think too much about it at the time, and didn't tell your father until you began to show your powers," she said. "Manifestations of magic has not shown itself in our family for over a hundred years, and I thought that the story of Fiero was just another tale to indict magic. Your father hoped the same."

"I've overhead some templars saying that the veil is thin here in Kirkwall because of the Imperium's atrocities. Do you think that has something to do with this as well?" Carver said to no one in general.

"Perhaps," Leandra said. "If only your father were still here. He'd have a better insight on all this."

"But he isn't," Carver said. "And there is still the question of what to do with brother."

"You make it sound as if you're contemplating on gutting me and throwing my corpse into the harbor," Hawke said.

Carver flushed. "I wouldn't," he said angrily. "What do you take me for?"

Hawke pointedly looked up at the sword still embedded in the ceiling. "My mistake."

"That's enough boys! Both of you are absolutely incorrigible. You give Carver's sword back," she commanded to Hawke who flinched at her tone, "and as for you-" she rounded onto Carver, who took a step back with his hands in front of him, "Do not forget who is your family! You are no longer a child, and I should not even have to remind you of this!"

The sword tore itself loose from stone with a scraping sound and fell into Hawke's outstretched palm. He gathered power at the tip of his fingers and ran it down the edges of the blade, smoothing and sharpening it back to perfection.

When he handed it back to Carver, Carver inspected it critically and found no obvious flaws. In fact, it looked better than it had before.

All heads turned towards the door. Footsteps were heading their way.

"Keep all these speculations to yourselves," Hawke said, and looked at Carver. "Please. We don't know what's really going on yet, and there's no need to concern the others prematurely."

Carver opened his mouth to protest, but the look their mother shot him silenced him. He paused, and then nodded his assent, albeit with great reluctance. He slung the broadsword across his back. "Fine, I will keep it a secret. For now."

Carver opened the door and allowed Anders and Fenris to come into the room. "I'll be heading back to the Gallows now. Keep me posted."

* * *

As Leandra went to see Carver out, Anders dutifully checked Hawke over with his healing arts. He asked Hawke some general questions, if he was feeling queasy, was he in any pain, and asked nothing else outside of that context. For that, Hawke was thankful.

Gentle waves of golden light swept over his body, and he relaxed as Anders did his work with Fenris hovering protectively over. He knew that Fenris was waiting for an opportunity for them to be alone; his lover was always uncomfortable with public displays of affection, especially in front of their usual company.

It had been half a year since their first night together, and even though it was already well-known to their friends of their relationship, Fenris still shied away from even so much as a kiss if done in front of company. Hawke did some silent experiments, and found that Fenris seemed to take joy and comfort if he stayed by Fenris' side on their frequent journeys throughout the city and walked by no one else's.

Fenris also permitted casual touches and hugs at most; Hawke knew most of his erogenous zones by now, enough to take advantage of the knowledge by teasing him in public with gentle brushes around the neck and ears, racketing up the tension until Fenris was visibly vibrating with desire, enough that if Hawke did not part from company soon, Fenris would head off and take his pleasure without him. Those times were always full of fun and good cheer, when they had all the time in the world.

But that time seemed to be ending.

The agreement he made with Flemeth still stood. He would have to prepare the journey to Sundermount soon, and her offer of aid only brought up more questions. If there was any truth in the Amell curse, then it would explain the wracking pains in his body. As his power grew with Kirkwall's influence, then so would the curse continue onto its path.

But why did the curse begin now, and not years ago? It seemed suspicious that the day it began, Flemeth also conveniently appeared with some sort of magical cloth to ease it, as if it was foreordained.

And speaking of that blanket...

Hawke glanced around his bed and then bent over to look underneath.

"Stop squirming," Anders said, pushing him back down into the pillows. "I'm not done yet."

"Oomph! So rough," Hawke muttered. "Just curious, when I was brought back here, was there something else on me?"

"What is it that you're looking for?" Fenris said.

"It was a grey piece of cloth, as large as a blanket. It should've been around me."

"No," Fenris said, face in consternation at the strange request. "When we found you there was no such item. But it was Donnic who got to you first, so perhaps he would know. Was there something special about this piece of cloth?"

"It was a...no, it's nothing. Forget I asked," Hawke said. It would be probably be too much to hope for that it was still in that alleyway. No doubt some poor resident, or perhaps a child, would've picked up such an item. He hoped Flemeth wasn't expecting it back.

"Anders, do you really need to be touching Hawke so much?" Fenris growled, looking directly at the hand that was still on Hawke's bare chest. Anders hand lingered for a few more seconds before pulling reluctantly away. "Finish your work and be gone."

"Just because your sleeping with him doesn't mean you get to call the shots," Anders said resentfully.

"Careful mage, your feelings are showing," Fenris said. "Hide it more carefully lest I rip it out of you."

"Thank you, Anders. I am feeling fine now, and I appreciate all that you've done. Orlanna will see you out," Hawke said, before it all got out of hand.

"Ugh," Anders threw his hands into the air, "I don't know how you deal with him. He's like a rabid dog."

Fenris' eyes flashed a dangerous green and his lyrium markings began to flash. Anders grabbed his staff, on the defensive. Tension quickly filled the room, almost thick enough to see.

"That's enough, both of you. If I need anymore healing, I'll see you at the clinic," Hawke said. "All of this isn't making me feel any better."

"Your right. You have my apologies," Anders said stiffly, eyes still on Fenris. "Let me know if you need anything. I'm _always_ happy to assist."

As Anders took his leave, Fenris visibly calmed down. He turned to leave too, but Hawke caught his arm. "Don't leave," Hawke said. "Stay with me. I'd like the pleasure of your company."

"Even after all this?" Fenris said tiredly. He let himself be led onto the bed, his fingers intertwining with Hawke's.

"You shouldn't have baited him, but he shouldn't have called you names either," Hawke said in between kisses along his lover's neck. Fenris and tilted his head back, a hand burying itself into Hawke's hair, encouraging. "I have to say though that your jealousy was a bit of a turn on."

"I'm not jealous," Fenris growled, tightening his fingers in Hawke's hair. Hawke nipped at the skin, and felt Fenris gasp. "Why didn't you tear his hand away?"

"I didn't even know it was still on me," Hawke said, licking at his skin. "Honest. And besides, my heart already belongs to someone else."

"You say that," Fenris groaned as dexterous fingers slipped beneath the edges of his flexible armor, "you oft tell me that, but it's difficult to believe that it is meant for me of all people."

"And why not? Do you truly not know your own worth?" Hawke said, unlatching the armor so that he could have more access to skin. He gave Fenris a hard kiss. "If words won't convince you, then perhaps I can show you. Will you believe then?"

Fenris was now on his back, his face turned to the side and half buried in the pillow as Hawke continued to kiss at every piece of newly exposed skin as he was stripped. Fenris' legs fell open automatically to accommodate Hawke's hips.

"S-stop ah-" Fenris moaned as Hawke ground hard against him, "-your mother is still downstairs, what if she-"

A loud click was heard and then the sound of bolts being drawn.

"Mother won't disturb us," Hawke said, sharing a deep kiss.

"You should, mmm-you should be resting," Fenris weakly protested, his bare hands pushing Hawke's drawstring pants down his hips eagerly.

"I've rested long enough. And I've missed you."

"We were together only a few days ago."

"It seems like so much longer. Indulge me."

Hawke nibbled the tip of those long pointed ears, and felt the body beneath him arch. Hands roamed all across his back before grasping his hips, encouraging him to rock forward. Together they built a rhythm of slick skin sliding against one another, mouths meeting hard for biting kisses and hands wound tightly together, larger squared fingers against smaller tapered ones.

Somewhere during round two, Hawke distantly heard knocking, but the sounds of their panting drowned it out. They both ignored it and eventually the knocking went away and did not return.

By the time they had spent themselves, both were exhausted. Fenris drifted off to sleep, but Hawke did not. He was tired out himself and felt his heavy lids, but was afraid to sleep lest the shadow creature awaited him in the land of dreams.

Fenris would demand to know what happened to him as soon as he woke up, Hawke knew. At least now he had time to prepare some answers. Fenris deserved no less than the truth, and he would tell him everything except for the meeting with Flemeth, as per their agreement.

He would not appreciate being left behind, and Hawke did not relish the idea of leaving what they had for who knows how long. Would it even be right for him to ask Fenris to wait for him, like some dutiful wife always waiting for her spouse to come back home?

Fenris had his own agendas that he was determined to see to the end. He did not want to leave Fenris to battle his demons alone, but he could not back out of his agreement with Flemeth. Not now.

Hawke rested his head on the pillow and pressed his lips against the back of his lover's neck. His eyes wandered, and saw that there was still a mark on the ceiling left by Carver's blade.

With a flash of magic, the rocks around the hole began to glow a fiery red-orange, the pieces melting against each other to fill in the gap. Once that patch was repaired, the rock began to slowly cool down.

Fenris gave a deep sigh in his sleep, his hand tightening the arm Hawke slung across his midsection. There was much to prepare before he left for an unknown fate, and Hawke determined that it would start with this.


End file.
